


Those Who Dare Hope

by thevalesofanduin



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 04:14:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4691702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevalesofanduin/pseuds/thevalesofanduin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sigrid has never been one for pretty words.</p>
<p>So why should she write about her affections to Fili, heir to the throne of Erebor? Her words will far from impress and her writing leaves much to be desired.</p>
<p>No, she decides, a bargeman's daughter writing to a prince is hardly a good idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Who Dare Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fic for my gorgeous and amazing [Shieldmaiden](http://eowynsheildmaiden.tumblr.com/). Hope you enjoy it, darling! <3

She has never been one for pretty words.

Not in speech nor in writing, for what need does a bargeman's daughter have for fancy words no fisherman will understand?

So when the idea first rises within her to perhaps write to Fili, heir to the throne of Erebor and above all brave for saving her and her siblings life's from a certain death by the hands of orcs, she casts it aside. Her words will far from impress and her writing leaves much to be desired.

No, she decides, a bargeman's daughter writing to a prince is hardly a good idea.

 

The idea, though, does not leave her mind.

Just like Fili himself hasn't left her mind. She's tried to forget and most of the time she actually does, too busy re-building the ruins of Dale into a somewhat livable city. Of course she doesn't do heavy lifting and she's not expected to actually _build_ a house. But a house needs sheets, curtains, a quilt for winter. Almost everyone needs clothing and everyone definitely needs to eat at some point. As daughter of the Lord of Dale - a title her father is quite disgruntled by - she's been given the task of overseeing all of the above activities. Making sure everyone works to get them winter-ready.

There is so much to do, she barely has time to even think her own thoughts during the day, let alone have her mind wander to Fili.

But some days, when she catches a glimpse of Erebor or when there are dwarves helping them rebuild, does she think of him. Some nights, when she is not so exhausted she falls asleep without even remembering to close her eyes, does she remember.

She remembers the fear, the helplessness but not for long. She is always rescued by that flash of gold, that brave act of a weaponless dwarf that threw himself against an orc to protect her.

The snarl on his lips as he did his best to save her siblings and herself.

The care with which he'd stayed with them, even when the dragon came. The worry he'd so openly displayed for their well-being.

She can't help but admit that not only is she impressed, she has by now become quite enamored with her blond, royal hero that would not leave them until he was sure that they were well.

It's strange, she thinks. They've exchanged little words and she hardly knows him. How can he haunt her thoughts so much? She had always thought herself not to be so vain as to fall for a handsome face yet here she is.

_But he's more than just a handsome face._ She thinks and somehow, she knows she won't forget about Fili.

 

And that night, unable to sleep and thinking of Fili more than is proper, Sigrid sits at her desk in the glow of a candle, and writes to her hero in a sure yet stiff handwriting she's uncomfortable using. But then, she doesn't write very often so she only hopes her writing doesn't look as sloppy as it feels.

_Dear Fili,_ she starts and for a moment wonders if the greeting isn't too casual. Then again, she thinks, this is who she is and it's not as if Fili had seemed very strict and formal when she'd met him.

_I hope you remember me, for I must admit that I do very vividly remember you. Even after months, I am still in awe of your bravery and kindness. I am sure many a lass has complimented you on such fine treats before but I would like to repeat them regardless._  
The selflessness with which you saved us in Laketown stuns me and your need to see us safe has touched my heart in an unexpected way.  
You plague my mind and while I thought to forget after a while, I’ve found the opposite has happened. For I think of you often and find myself wishing I knew more about you.  
I hope you will grant me my foolish wish to get to know you as more than my kind, handsome savior.   
Awaiting your reply,  
Sigrid of Dale 

She considers signing it with her newfound title of Lady of Dale, thinking it might give her more chances of receiving a reply. Yet, she decides, if Fili would reply to the Lady of Dale but not to Sigrid he is perhaps not the kind and caring dwarf she thinks him to be.

So she leaves it as it is and in the morning she reads the letter again.

And again.

And again.

She thinks it should be longer. That she should explain more about herself, who she is and what she does. Perhaps it needs to be different, not so forward for her to say she likes him.

Two days after she’s written the letter, it’s still sitting on her desk and that night she looks at it and thinks that perhaps she should not send it at all.

She goes to bed with that thought, dreams of the nightmare that was the destruction of Laketown but in her dream, Fili sticks with her. In her dream, they meet after the battle is over. In her dream, they fall in love.

She wakes in the morning feeling hopeful and thinking that if she doesn’t send the letter, she will be a coward – something she has always dreaded to be. 

 

Half a week later, she gets her chance to get her letter to Fili.

They’re having their evening meal with their family when her father announces he will be leaving for Erebor the next morning for a few days.

Bain shrugs it off and continues eating, Tilda is a pain the rest of the evening in her frustration that their father is going away for a few days and not taking her with him and Sigrid is a nervous mess.

She still is when later that evening, right before retiring, she joins her father on the couch in their living-room. When she leans against his shoulder, watching the fire in the hearth roar and crackle she feels like a little girl again. When she was younger, she would always sit with her Da before bed, she in her washed-out nightgown and him in his day-clothes that reek of dirty water and smelly fish.

Now, she’s older, her nightgown brand new and her Da smells much better but other than that not much has changed.

He still reaches out, strokes her hair that’s been braided for the night and patiently waits for her to speak. He’s a good father and has learned long ago that his eldest will come to him with her issues whenever she wants to, not when he wishes she would.

“Da?” She asks him softly eventually.

Her father hums in reply.

Sigrid licks her lips nervously, before asking: “When you go to Erebor tomorrow, would you deliver something from me there?”

“What?” Her father asks curiously.

“A letter.” Sigrid answers, feeling quite nervous. What will her father think?

“For?”

For a moment, Sigrid holds her breath at the cautiousness in her father’s voice. A letter to someone in Erebor. A Dwarf. Her father is not an idiot, he knows what this is about. “For prince Fili.”

Bard’s hand pauses against her hair and he sighs, heavily and somewhat burdened. “Sigrid.” He sighs and sounds worried above anything else.

Sigrid flares, always angered easily – like her Ma, Da always tells her fondly – and immediately jumps to Fili’s rescue. “He’s –“

“Not that bad for a dwarf.” Bard interrupts his daughter, voice firm but kind.

Sigrid startles at the interruption and glances up at her father. He’s looking into the fire, thoughtful but not angry.

When he feels his daughter’s eyes on him, Bard turns to her. He strokes her hair with a sigh and with a fond yet teasing smile asks: “You’re sure you wouldn’t rather exchange letters with that lad from Edoras?”

Sigrid laughs and in her relief that he’s joking – that he’s _accepting_ this – lets her head fall against his shoulder. “I’m sure, Da.”

“Well, a father can always try.” Bard chuckles and kisses the top of her head. “At least Erebor is on our doorstep.”

\---

When her Da comes back from his trip to Erebor, Sigrid is impatiently waiting for him at the front door.

She can barely keep herself from asking if he gave the letter to Fili, how the dwarf had reacted and if he'd given her Da a reply to her.

Instead, she takes his coat from him when he shrugs it off. "How was it, Da?"

Bard sighs and happily lets his daughter take care of his coat and bag as he himself ventures to the kitchen. "Tiresome, as always. Thranduil was there so it took a whole day before Thorin and him stopped glaring at one another."

Sigrid follows her father into the kitchen and hassles him to sit down. "Some soup? I made a proper potato soup yesterday with lard. We have some leftovers."

"Yes, please." Bard almost greedily takes the offer and, when Sigrid is at the stove stirring the heating soup, he adds: "I've delivered your letter."

For a moment she freezes, a giddy feeling in her stomach and an embarrassing grin on her lips. "Thank you."

Then, however, her father sighs sadly. "I have received no reply to return to you."

Sigrid goes from elated and nervous to dejected and sad, shoulders hunching and the grin falling from her face. "Oh."

She hears her father's chair scrape against the wooden floor and in a few steps he is by her side, a hand on her shoulder.

"Maybe next time." He offers.

"Aye," she nods, but the feeling of rejection doesn't go away. "Maybe next time."

 

For a week, she wakes every morning hoping that a letter from Erebor will come. She works just as hard but whenever she takes a break her eyes wander to Erebor's direction. Throughout the evening she thinks of Fili and, perhaps foolishly, of how busy he must be that he hasn't replied to her letter yet. When she goes to bed, she dreams of Fili, of receiving a reply and of getting to know him better.

When the second week dawns, her hope dwindles. Before she goes to bed, her mind wanders for a moment wondering if in perhaps the next few days she will receive a reply to her letter. During the day, when she sees a rare dwarf with blond hair working alongside the Men of Dale her heart is in her throat but she is always quick to realize it isn’t Fili. 

By the end of the second weak her Da departs for Erebor again. The night before he leaves Sigrid doesn’t join him on the couch. When she is about to go to bed, though, her father comes to her room. He gives her a quick hug, asks her to keep an eye out on the house and when he kisses her hair he promises to seek out Fili.

Sigrid tries very hard not to get her hopes up.

Early in the third week her dad returns yet with him comes no reply from Erebor.

“He wasn’t there.” Bard tells her softly, when they are sipping tea at the table watching Bain and Tilda do the dishes. “I was told he was visiting Thranduil’s court with his brother.”

Sigrid glances at her father with a half-hearted smile. “Thank you.” She says but can’t help but think it means very little that Fili wasn’t there. He must’ve known Bard was coming for a visit so he could have left a letter to be given to him upon his arrival.

The fact he hasn’t only means he has no wish to do so in the future.

Sigrid doesn’t cry. She bites her lip, swallows down the tears, but she doesn’t cry. It’s not necessary, she thinks. She expressed an interest in someone unattainable and that interest is not returned.

She should’ve known.

Or well, she knew but she’d still hoped.

Now, though, she doesn’t have any left.

\---

Two weeks later, Sigrid is quite proud of herself to have left her silly crush on Fili behind her.

She still thinks of him sometimes as of course no emotion vanishes that quickly. But as he doesn’t live in Dale and thus she doesn’t see him – nor hear from him – she finds it easier to get over her hurt feelings and bruised ego.

Life, it seems, is getting back into something relatively normal.

 

Sigrid is with the seamstresses when Tilda comes running around a corner.

She comes to a halt in front of Sigrid, a grin on her lips and a flush on her cheeks.

Sigrid pauses her own needlework and looks up at her sister – who is up to something, she’s convinced! – with a raised eyebrow.

“A letter arrived. For you.” Tilda rushes and her eyes twinkle with mirth as she speaks.

Sigrid’s eyes widen, hope flaring.

But only for a second.

Around her the women giggle and Isa, a friend of Sigrid, teases: “With the convoy from Rohan on the way, I wonder who it’s from.”

A frown tugs at Sigrid’s lips, quick and barely there as she pushes down that blasted flutter in her chest. She catches herself, though, and thinks back to the conversation with her father in front of the hearth when she’d asked him to take her letter to Erebor.

She huffs. “Wonder indeed.”

“Come on, you must be a bit smug about it. He’s certain to be a better catch than any lad you’ll find here.” Isa grins.

Sigrid thinks it over for a minute and decides that yes, she _does_ feel rather smug. It might not be the one she’d hoped for, but it’s not every day that a son of a lord is interested in her. And who knows, she thinks. He might even be nice. “True, that. I might even reply.”

“To tell him he’s moving here, I do hope. Dale will collapse without you here.” Isa says and some of the other women nod along with kind smiles.

Sigrid shakes her head. “I’m not planning on leaving Dale.” She promises. Any lad interested in her will have to move to Dale.

_Unless it’s Fili._ But she knows that that ship has already sailed.

“It’s at the house.” Tilda’s curiosity finally gets the best of her and she’s looking at her sister expectantly. 

Sigrid resists the urge to giggle and tell her sister she will read the letter later. In all honesty, it’s better to read it now. With the convoy from Rohan on its way, it’s best to be prepared after all. 

“All right,” she says and puts down her needlework, carefully storing it away in her basket. “I guess it’s best to not let a lord waiting, whether it be in person or in writing.”

\---

Sigrid sits on her bed, turning the letter over in her hands with a nervous flutter in her stomach.

Coming home she’d grabbed the letter, ignored both her brother and sister and sought refuge in her room. If whatever is in the letter is any of their business, she will decide. By herself, without being bothered – although Tilda lingering in the hallway is not exactly subtle.

She slips the letter out of the unmarked envelope – no seal whatsoever on it – and, taking a deep breath, unfolds it. Her eyes dart to the bottom of the letter, skipping everything in favor of finding out what the name of this young lord is.

What she sees makes her heart beat faster and her breath hitch. 

It’s from Fili.  
Oh, she’s so surprised! Hadn’t even dared to hope by this point but he wrote to her! Even if she doesn’t know yet what he has written, her heart overflows with anticipation and a happy grin slides onto her lips without her realizing it.

She strokes Fili’s name at the bottom of the letter slowly before, with renewed hope, she reads his letter.

_My dearest Sigrid,_  
I must admit my very pleasant surprise upon receiving your letter.  
The words were kind, flattering and possessed a simplicity and honesty that suit you. Traits I have always treasured in another for while prince I now might be, my life so far has been a simple one.  
It seems we are kindred spirits in that and more! For while you think of me, I think of you.  
Especially after receiving your letter, my mind has often wandered to you, your beauty and your own bravery.   
The tardiness of my reply is only my own fault and perhaps my cowardice, not knowing what to write to you. Still, I do not know which words to use but I know I desire the same as you. I, too, wish for a chance to know more about you and to, above all, explore this mutual interest.   
You must be busy, as I have heard your father mention your tremendous support in rebuilding the city of Dale. Yet I would forever be grateful if you find some time to write back to me and share details of your life and I, in turn, will share the same of mine.  
I remain, awaiting your reply if correspondence with me is still something you desire after my belated reply.  
Yours,  
Fili of Erebor 

For a few moments, she sits on her bed merely staring at the letter, letting Fili’s words sink in.

He thinks of _her_. Thinks her beautiful. Wants to get to know her better…

Laughing, clutching the letter to her chest, Sigrid falls back onto her bed. 

She’d lost all hope but it seems it was unnecessary! 

Her wish has come true and she’d hoped, oh she’d hoped, but had never really hoped it would ever be real. But now it is, very much so with Fili’s answer in writing and her heart feels as if it’s ready to burst.

She spends the next half hour basking in her own giddy happiness and when, after, she sits at her desk and writes to Fili about her life and her fond memories, it seems as if a smile is permanently set on her face.

And now, she dares to hope.

Hope for a future with Fili that is more than a letter between them.

A hope that, in her heart, she knows won’t be futile.


End file.
